


A Gift is Given To Be Used

by Lyze



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Adventure, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aragorn Angst, F/M, Fantasy, Forbidden Love, evental romance, great eagles of valinor, maybe smut, mortal with immortal, slow sloooow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-18 21:55:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16127510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyze/pseuds/Lyze
Summary: It took many hours to revert her back to her elvish body-clothes and all, to his surprise. This was a true gift from the Valar. And the Valar gave gifts with the expectation that they be used. Elrond could not stand in the way of their will-he could only trust that they would protect his daughter on her task.





	A Gift is Given To Be Used

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody asked for this fic.  
> Nobody wanted it.  
> Nobody will probably read this fic.
> 
>  
> 
> BUT SCREW YOU ALL, I'M WRITING IT ANYWAYS!
> 
> I've had this character in my head for a while, and I've been in love with sweet, romantic Aragorn's character for a while, so yeah. I think he needs someone a little more fiery and involved than Arwen, but that's just me.

She washed into Rivendell by river, clutching at a floating log with hands clenched tight, too weak to try and swim for the shore Her face was a terrifying blend of bleached bone or blue from cold. She was alive only through the mercy of the Valar. The elves pulled her from the water and brought her to their lord for healing.

 

It took two days before Elrond could assure them of the youngling’s survival, and another two for her to wake up. She was a small creature, perhaps only seven years of age, with her cheeks still round and her body still not yet developed. She was a Sindarin elf- her hair was not even gold, but pale as woven moonlight.  _ Eyes of fire, _ the elves whispered, when at last she awoke. They were beads of seething flame, dark amber ringed by a wave of molten gold. Intelligent, and more than a little wild. Despite their warm encouragements, she would not speak. She only even acknowledged Elrond, watching him with wary eyes when he approached and sometimes tilting her head one way or another as she listened. 

He was forced to taste all her meals in front of her, or she wouldn’t eat. Every day, he asked for her name, or where she came from, or what happened. She would curl up in the corner with her back to him each time he asked. Eventually, he didn’t.

 

Elrond had only a few select theories of where she came from-each had gaps he could not explain. His first theory-she was the child of nomadic elves, separated from her parents through some way or another. Perhaps Orcs came upon them, or men. Man could be vicious and greedy. His second; that she had perhaps been taken at some point after birth, and escaped some form of captivity-that would explain her primitive behaviors. The second seemed most likely, judging from the silvery scars forming bracelets around her wrists.

 

It took an entire month before she ate without prompting. Another before she expressed any interest in leaving her rooms. (Which, admittedly, were quite large.)  Elrond cautiously led her through the more empty pathways, half-scared that she might run away. To his surprise, she clenched a tiny fist around his robes and didn’t let go once. It both endeared and saddened him, but he made no comment.

 

Not surprisingly, she didn’t wish to go anywhere near the rivers.  

After the first year, she admitted, in a voice so quiet he almost missed it, that she had no name. So he gave her one-Nauriel. Daughter of fire. She seemed to like it well enough, and it held tribute to both her eyes and personality. Quiet she may have been, but from the moment she discovered the kitchens, the poor cooks lost all semblance of peace. They arrived each day to find a chaotic mess. She continued to steal from them regularly, despite Elrond’s half-hearted chidings. It was amusing, certainly, to find her covered in flour and jam, eyes gleaming with unrealized laughter. After a while, the cooks started leaving offerings at the door, which served decently well to circumvent the mess.

 

(Nauriel still stole from them sometimes; out of principle, perhaps.) 

 

As the years began to pass, she became more and more outspoken which Elrond first appreciated and later mildly regretted, because sometimes she said things that were  _ supposed _ to go unspoken, like when master Tilden had food in her teeth ( _ One time!) _ or how she thought harps were supposed to ‘ _ actually sound nice, not screech like an angry cat!’ _

The youngling talked incessantly, and sometimes he thought it was out of a specific desire to drive him or Arwen mad. 

 

Poor Arwen held no love for Nauriel. It was perhaps a difference in age-Arwen was well into her twentieth century, and Nauriel was but a child. It was hard for them to relate, and Nauriel seemed impatient with Arwen’s lack of response to her attempts at friendship. Sometime around her twentieth year, she stopped trying, and simply decided to leave Arwen be, choosing instead to pursue the bowmasters and soldiers as they trained.

 

(She tried to sneak out with patrols, too, but was caught every time and returned, huffing and ranting, to Elrond. “I just want to  _ watch _ !” she whined. Elrond gave her a firm  _ no _ . She had suffered enough, and the patrols were dangerous. He also didn’t know how she would react if she encountered an orc face to face) 

 

From then on, she threw herself into danger recklessly, set on proving that she was strong in her own right. She faced the river, forcing herself to swim, and nearly drowned a second time. When he heard, Elrond flew into a rage Rivendell had not witnessed in many a century. When all was said and done, Nauriel was banished to her rooms. She did not emerge for days.

At last, Elrond could not face his guilt-he had been scared, and allowed his fear to emerge as anger. 

He approached her doors with trepidation, and knocked. She did not reply with greetings; even angry ones. Elrond opened the door. He searched every one of her rooms-she was not inside. She had not been seen outside of them either. Elrond found only an open window, curtains tugged lazily by the wind. And he thought he knew fear before. 

 

They did not find her in the kitchens, or any of the libraries, or with any of the masters. They didn’t find her tagging after the patrols, either. It was on the third day, instead, that he found a young Great Eagle of Valinor perched at his windowsill, staring at him with the frightened and confused fire-gold eyes of his daughter. She was small, (By the standards of the eagles of Valinor) as she was not yet full grown, but she was still the size of a small man. Her feathers gleamed like polished bone, bleached by the sun. They were also puffed out in fear, and when Elrond squinted, he could see her trembling, talons clenching and unclenching on the abused wood of his windows. 

Elrond moved forward after only a moment's pause, seeing many different futures as they converged and sang harmony in his mind. He would not be able to protect her, not for much longer. She had survived the river through the will of a higher power, and she had been blessed-the first skin-changer to come to elves. There were no others before her, and there would be no others after her.

 

“Sssh, daughter,” he crooned. “You are well, and you are safe, I vow it.” It took many hours to revert her back to her elvish body-clothes and all, to his surprise. This was a true gift from the Valar. And the Valar gave gifts with the expectation that they are used. Elrond could not stand in the way of their will-he could only trust that they would protect his daughter on her task.

 

He could not bear, however, to watch her bruise and hurt under the training she would require, and so he sent her-accompanied by Arwen- to the forests of Lothlorien, to be taught by her adoptive grandmother Galadriel, and the cool, more impassive masters under her rule. They would not be soft on her. Elrond recognized their harshness would be necessary-still, he hugged his adopted daughter fiercely before turning to Arwen. 

“Be safe,” he cautioned. “Travel quickly, and be wary on the road. She smiled gently,

 

“I know, Ada. I will be glad to see my grandmother again.” Elrond dipped his head. 

 

“Go,” he instructed. “Lose no more daylight.” 

 

They left.


End file.
